


every little thing about you

by CloudCover (RainyForecast)



Series: Hockey RPF Tumblr Prompts [3]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Barista!Sid, Fluff, M/M, demisexual!Sid if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 07:07:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10680234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainyForecast/pseuds/CloudCover
Summary: “It’s Tuesday,” Flower says, with the kind of resignation the day always evokes. He doesn’t have to explain further, Sid knows what he means. Tuesday means the Russians are coming.Tumblr prompt:I have a prompt! How about Barista Sid and super flirty customer Geno?





	every little thing about you

“It’s Tuesday,” Flower says, with the kind of resignation the day always evokes. He doesn’t have to explain further, Sid knows what he means. Tuesday means the Russians are coming. Well, Sid is pretty sure the quiet blonde guy is Scandinavian, but mostly, the noisy group that takes up, bare minimum,  _ three _ tables at 412 Coffee is Russian. Holding court among them most days is Alex, whom Sid privately just labels “Loud Motherfucker.” 

To be fair, they tip well. They tip really, really well, but they’re just kind of A Lot. Alex. “Call me Sasha” Ovechkin most of all. Every Tuesday, without fail, he orders coffee, gives Sid a bullshit name to write on the cup (which Sid ignores, typically just writing ALEXANDER or DICKHEAD in huge letters), complains about their tea selection (inferior to Russian tea),  and hits on Sid. Or Flower. Or Tanger. Or whomever is behind the till at the time. All the while, Blonde Scandinavian Guy (Nicklas, is the name he gives for his coffee order)  will glare at said person behind Alex’s back like a serial killer. It gets old. Alex is harmless, unlike most of the other people who think hitting on the barista at their place of work is ok, but Sid gets tired of it all the same. He doesn’t like being hit on, and he doesn’t want to touch whatever drama is going on between Alex and Nicklas with a 20 foot pole. 

So Sid is expecting more of the same shit today. And sure enough, at 4 o'clock on the dot there they are, trooping in. “SIDNEY!” Ovi booms. “ _ Most _ handsome barista today! I’m lucky! Maybe even luckier if you finally go out with me, yes?” Sid isn’t sure exactly what combo of disgust and exasperation his own face is twisted up into but the sniggering from the guys behind Alex means it’s pretty horrific looking. 

“Alexander, “ he says tersely. “What can I get you today?” 

“Cappuchino, I think, because, as you know-”

“Yes, yes, American tea is bullshit, blah blah blah. Thank you for your business. Next?” 

Alex reaches back and yanks one of his friends to the forefront of the group and practically shoves him forward. 

“New customer today! This is Evgeni, he’s new. To this coffee shop and the U.S. both. I tell him this one have  _ most _ beautiful baristas in all of Pittsburgh.” Stifling a groan, Sid prepares a mask of politeness ( _ heavy tippers _ , he thinks,  _ heavy tippers _ ), and looks up. And up. The guy is seriously fucking tall. He’s got shaggy brown hair under a ball cap, and a face that, while ticking few of the standard boxes for “handsome,” manages to be incredibly so. He’s got big, deep brown eyes, and he’s staring at Sid with an expression reminiscent of a startled puppy. Sid softens. New to the U.S. That’s gotta be rough. He does his best to put on a reassuring, welcoming smile, the kind he usually saves for little old ladies who don’t understand the drinks menu. 

“Hi, welcome to Pittsburgh. What can I get you?” The guy is still staring.

“Uh-” he says, and one of his buddies elbows him in the ribs and hisses something at him in Russian. Evgeni turns to reply, sounding pissed, then faces Sid again. His chin goes up, and he grins at Sid, slow, and his eyes go hooded in an unmistakable look that has Sid’s own face shuttering and his smile fading from his lips. Fucking damn it. Why can’t he go one day without dealing with this garbage. 

“Which one  _ you _ like?” the guy says, in a deep, unfairly attractive voice, raking his eyes over Sid. Sid drops his gaze to stare, stone faced, at the register. 

“Our special today is a caramel latte with sea salt,” Sid intones. “Would you like a small, medium, or large?” 

There’s a muttered exchange in Russian and when Sid looks up, the older guy who sometimes comes along with the Russian clique has a hand on Evgeni’s shoulder and is shaking his head. Evgeni is looking confused, the cocky leer completely gone. 

“He’ll have a medium,” the older guy (Sergei, Sid thinks his name is) says. “You must excuse him, Sasha is a terrible influence.” Alex squawks in protest, and Sid just nods and hurries through getting all of their drink orders. 

When they count up the money in the tip jar at the end of the day, there’s a hundred dollar bill in there with “Sorry for rude” laboriously scrawled across it. Sid isn’t quite sure how he feels about it. 

***

Sid’s busy in the back early the next morning when Tanger comes back, looking highly amused, which is always a bad sign. 

“Hey Sid,” he says, his grin ominous. “There’s someone out front asking for you. Lost little puppy. Or big puppy, I guess?” Sid peers suspiciously at him but Tanger’s apparently done volunteering info and won’t be moved, so Sid heads out front to see who’s there. 

It’s Evgeni, shifting from foot to foot, wearing a significant amount of cologne and a very ugly T-shirt. Both the cologne and the shirt seem expensive. Sid groans internally. Evgeni lights up when he sees him, but Sid wastes no time opening the till and fishing out the hundred with the apology written on it from yesterday. He holds it out unceremoniously. 

“This is unnecessary,” Sid says, and Evgeni’s face falls. Sid sighs. “No hard feelings, but I don’t like being flirted with at my work, and this tip makes me uncomfortable.” Evgeni seems to understand, and he takes the bill, looking a little ashamed. 

The bell tinkles then, and Evgeni steps aside to let the customer by. It’s a young mother with a baby and a little boy who looks to be around five. He can barely see over the counter but proudly proclaims that “Mom said I can have  _ one _ hot chocolate” and insists on counting out the money himself. It’s really stinking cute and Sid gets distracted with that and with making faces at the baby when she starts to fuss. The mom is grateful for his patience and mouths a “thank you” at him when he carefully hands down the safely tepid hot chocolate to the boy. When the family moves on, he realizes Evgeni is still standing at the counter. He’s looking at Sid with a complicated expression on his face. 

“How about this,” Sid says. “You okay with just maybe, being friends?” Evgeni’s entire body straightens from its slump and he nods, frantically. Sid has to smile a little. He reaches over the counter and offers his hand. Evgeni takes it, and as they shake hands Sid tries not to think about how his not-exactly-small hand is swallowed up by Evgeni’s. Evgeni smiles at him, bright and sweet, no leer in sight, and it’s like a punch to the gut. 

“Call me Geno,” he says, tongue poking out of his mouth a little like he’s just gotten away with something. 

This might be a bad idea. 

***

Sid should look into fortune-telling, he really should, because being Geno’s friend is exactly the trial on Sid’s nerves that he’d expected it to be. Time and time again, he wonders why he had to meet Geno at work of all places, and his resolve on Not Dating Customers Who Hit On Him weakens daily. Geno is funny, and exuberant, and has a mischievous streak a mile wide. This gets coupled with the most poorly hidden marshmallow heart Sid’s ever seen. Geno’s practically dived out of the shop door in the middle of a conversation before, because he saw a dog he wanted to pet outside. 

He brings Sid things all the time. Sid had felt weird about it at first, but Sergei tells him that it’s just the way Geno is with all of his friends. He’s got a good memory, and he loves buying things that remind him of the people he likes. Sid mentions his skate laces are busted, and finds a new pair shoved in the tip jar. Granted, they are neon yellow but after he warms up to it Sid decides he likes the color. Another time, Geno brings him a handful of brightly wrapped Russian candies, and now Sid is forced to visit the closest Russian grocery weekly because he’s completely addicted. While he’s there he lingers over the boxes and tins of tea, almost considering buying some for the coffee shop, but thinks better of it. 

A magnet of an annoyed looking kitten finds its way to the side of the espresso machine. A light up road hockey puck for playing at night appears in Sid’s apron pocket after he leaves it hanging off of a chair. Sid even gets flowers after Geno comes in with a huge bouquet. “Lady from work break up with loser boyfriend, say I can take ‘sorry flowers’ he try and send her,” Geno explains, and proceeds to hand them out to everyone in sight. Flower spends the day with a daisy behind his ear, and Tanger puts a rose in his shirt pocket, with plans to hand it to a pretty girl, probably. Sid puts the lily Geno gives him in a plastic cup of water to keep it from wilting and hides it under the register. He catches whiffs of it’s scent the whole day, and his chest feels a little funny when he lets himself think about it too much. 

They talk too. Sid learns all about Geno’s immigrating from Russia, about his family back home in Magnitogorsk. Geno wants to know everything about Sid too, and after a couple months Sid is kind of shocked to realize that aside from Flower, Geno is kind of his...best friend. His best friend who Sid wants to climb like a tree, but whose advances Sid shut down when they first met. Whoops. 

***

It’s a Tuesday again. Geno’s split off from his friends and is leaning over the counter as he often does, finding a new spot for the kitten magnet while he bickers with Sid about the potential outcome of tonight’s NHL matchups. 

A group of young women come in, and Sid has to pause in telling Zhenya how wrong he is about the Canadiens’ second line in order to serve them. The amount of giggling and the overly coy smiles make Sid suspicious. And sure enough, minutes after they all find a table to whisper conspiratorially around, one of the girls gets up and sashays over. 

“Hey, so, my friend thinks you’re really hot, and we were wondering if you’re single?,” she says, twisting a lock of hair around her finger. Back at their table, one of the girls is getting poked and elbowed by her friends. Sid feels his spine stiffen. He hates this. 

“Not single, are you,  Солнышко **,** **”** Geno purrs, batting his eyelashes outrageously at Sid. “Я для тебя единственный, yes?” Sid can feel his cheeks turning red. Geno should not sound as good as he does when he speaks Russian. 

“Um,” Sid says. “Sorry?” He shrugs at the girl, who looks positively giddy for some reason. 

“Oh my god. You’re both _too_ _cute_!” she says, and thankfully, goes back to her table, to yet more giggling. Sid rests his head in his folded arms, and groans. 

He raises it when Geno speaks again. “Sorry, Sid, know you don’t like.”

“Yeah, it’s just, I’m at work? And I have to be nice, and some people get weird ideas.” 

Geno goes quiet again. When Sid looks at him, he’s spinning the kitten magnet around and around with one finger, looking, well, kind of sad. Sid can guess he’s probably thinking about when they first met. Which— 

“Geno,” Sid says. “Remember when I first met you?” Geno flinches. 

“Can’t forget. Most stupid.” 

Sid takes a deep breath. He reaches out to still Geno’s hand on the magnet, and doesn’t take his own hand away. Geno looks up at him in alarm. Sid’s brain shorts out. What should— 

“So, you come here often?” he says, and tries to look up at Geno through his eyelashes, like they always talk about in romance novels. It’s harder than he expected. He probably looks like an idiot. Geno blinks rapidly, and clutches at Sid’s hand. 

“Don’t joke, Sid. Please.” His voice cracks on the “please,” and Sid needs to do something about this, right now. After only a split second of indecision, he yanks Geno behind the counter, and pulls him through the doors into the back. Flower looks up, startled, from where he’s pulling a batch of scones from the oven. 

“Flower, can you man the register, just for a sec? It’s important. Please?” Flower rolls his eyes, but sets down the tray of scones, and leaves, shaking an admonishing finger at them and muttering something about health codes. When he’s gone, Sid looks up at Geno. They’re still holding hands; Geno’s gripping Sid’s with both of his, and oh, his face. 

“I, uh, you know you’re kind of one of my best friends, right?” Sid says. “And you’re really funny, and sweet, when you aren’t trying to be a flirt and you—” 

“Sid,” Geno says, and Sid swallows nervously. 

“So what I’m saying is, if you still want to, I mean, who knows if you still do—” Geno lets go of Sid’s hands then, and Sid feels the loss of his touch like a blow. But then Geno cradles Sid’s face between his huge, warm palms. 

“Gotta say, Sid. Say it. Okay?” And Sid nods. 

“Yeah. I, I’ve kinda, um, fallen for you.” Fuck, he sounds like an idiot. “I like you. Like-like you.” No,  _ now _ he sounds like an idiot. 

But Geno’s face is split in a huge grin. “Sid,” he repeats, sounding incredulous. And then he kisses him. 

Geno’s mouth is soft, and perfect.  His arms wrapped around Sid feel almost as good. Sid’s only just managed to get his hands into Geno’s hair when the swinging door bangs open. 

“Okay kids! Time’s up! Take it elsewhere, or the snickerdoodles are gonna burn,” Flower crows with entirely too much glee. Sid groans into Geno’s chest and feels the answering rumble of his laugh. He soothes a hand down Sid’s spine. 

“Later, Sid? Go to dinner? Date?” And he sounds so, so happy. He sounds like Sid feels. 

“Yeah. Let’s do that,” Sid says, and reluctantly untangles himself from Geno. “Let’s definitely do that.” 

  
  


And they do. 

**Author's Note:**

> This was a Tumblr prompt fill and is un-beta'd. 
> 
> Title is from Jon Bellion's "Overwhelming."
> 
>  
> 
> You can find me as [creaturesofnarrative ](http://creaturesofnarrative.tumblr.com/) (main) and [knifeshoeoreofight](http://knifeshoeoreofight.tumblr.com/) (hockey sideblog) on Tumblr, and as RainyForecast on Twitter. Come say hi and cry with me about how hockey both real and fictional has eaten our lives.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] every little thing about you](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12194511) by [CloudCover (RainyForecast)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainyForecast/pseuds/CloudCover), [iamnotmagic_cath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamnotmagic_cath/pseuds/iamnotmagic_cath)




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